Last weekend I had the privilege of going on a trip east of the city with a couple of friends, Mike and Blair. Our first stop was at Sharyn Canyon, Kazakhstan's much-smaller version of the Grand Canyon. After heeding the warning sign (stating: "Warning! Dangerous For Life!") we spent some time walking around the top and climbing on some of the rock formations. The lack of hand rails or any form of safety apparati (is that a word?) was both refreshing and nerve-wracking. And if we were standing near an edge when the wind gusted, it was downright terrifying.Then Mike amazed us with his off-road skills by somehow getting us down to the bottom of the canyon in the 4x4. I took some pictures of the path we drove down, but none of the pictures do justice to how steep and bumpy it really was. Even on the canyon floor, we drove under rock overhangs and between huge rocks that seemed to allow our passage by a few feet only.
After getting back on the main highway, we travelled around the end of one of the long mountain ridges and back around along another wide valley. In one of the smaller valleys that branched off from the larger valley is a small village named Kurmetta, where a family lives that Mike knows quite well. He often visits to lend a helping hand. I was initially hoping to help out myself, but local hospitality insists that guests are not allowed to work (at least, not until they are considered very close to the family).
The first night we met the whole family: Askar and his wife, his mother and father, and his three small children. A cousin was also staying with them at the time. (Unfortunately, I only got a picture of the grandparents and the cousin.) Despite they numbering eight and we only three, we ate and slept in the large dining room.
Either Askar or his father ate our meals with us (with Askar's wife or mother sitting at the table to serve us tea), but the others ate in the kitchen. We were overwhelmed by their hospitality -- the food was tasty and plentiful. I was also lucky enough to avoid having to cut up the cow's head we were served the first night (not sheep's head this time) -- that was Blair's honour!
The next morning Askar took the three of us on a horseback ride up the valley. The horses wouldn't go any faster than a walk (and my horse was very comfortable following behind the other horses) so it was a slow leisurely trip. We travelled up to a cabin-type building where some of the villagers stay when they are cutting the grass for hay in the fall. It was a beautiful scene; it made me wish that I had some time to go strolling about the hills.
We travelled back down the valley, stopping to meet some of the neighbours. Again, my horse enjoyed staying about 10 yards behind the other horses. But I had stopped trying to prod him along on the return trip and we both had a much more enjoyable ride. Although I couldn't take part in the conversations with the others, I talked to the horse and even sang to him. (He seemed to walk well to "Crown Him with Many Crowns"... or maybe the beat just fit in better with his pace and it only seemed like we were going faster.)
